Pieces of Me

By Mikell L. Murphy

This is a collection of some of my memories, experiences and opinions written through the years of a long and fulfilling life. They certainly do not tell my whole story, but they truly are pieces of it, so I see them as pieces of me.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524608835

Mikell L. Murphy

Mikell Murphy was born and raised in Texas but moved to Alaska for adventure and higher teacher pay right after college in 1959. She has lived there for more than half a century but she and her husband, David, currently spend their winters in the Texas Hill Country. She earned her Doctorate in Education while teaching full time and raising three children.

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PIECES OF ME

MIKELL L. MURPHY

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©

2016 Mikell L. Murphy. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/27/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-0884-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-0883-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Preface

My First Public Appearance

Dancing With My Star

Kristin And God

The Necessary Evil In My Life

Alaska – Then And Now

The Mighty Caribou Hunters

My Earthquake Story

Up, Up And Away !!

Dear Dingo

Ring Tum Ditty

I Say Alaska

My Least Favorite Time Of The Day

No Red Hat, Please

I Carry My Mother

The Blue Butterfly And My Dead Friend

My Lost Honeymoon

My Life As A Druggie

My Credo

Mom Wanted More

Dad's World View

Aunt Eunice Was A Clifft Girl

Proud To Be An American — Sort Of

Reflections In Black And White

PREFACE

The following is a collection of some of my memories, experiences and opinions written through the years of a long and fulfilling life. They certainly do not tell my whole story, but they truly are pieces of it, so I see them as pieces of me. I could not have gathered them together in this little book without the help and encouragement of my husband, David Comins.

3/2016

MY FIRST PUBLIC APPEARANCE

We had just moved from our home in the oil and dust wasteland of Freer, Texas, to an actual neighborhood in Ft. Worth that summer of 1942. There were no other children nearby, but that did not really bother me. I was five years old and had never really been around other kids anyway.

Then one day a few weeks later, my life changed. Betty Alice Slater, a cousin my age that I had never heard of, and her daddy, a church minister, dropped by. They told us that Pastor Slater had been called to start a new church right down our street, and we were invited—nay urged—to attend services there.

Now Mom had absolutely no use for church. Nevertheless, when she heard that I desperately yearned to go to Vacation Bible School so I could become friends with Cousin Betty Alice, she thought it over and relented. After all, I did suffer from extreme shyness and this experience might help me become a little more socialized.

So off I went with Cousin Betty Alice down the block for a week full of songs and prayers about Heaven and Hell—all new and pretty scary stuff to me but definitely fascinating. I really wanted to fit in with the other children but just didn’t know how, so I kept my mouth shut and stayed glued to Cousin Betty Alice.

As the week drew to a close I learned there was to be something important happening on Friday night. The parents would be coming to Church for a little program put on by the children. Afterward there would be punch and cookies for everyone.

It sounded good to me, and I was definitely up for it until we all gathered together and the teacher started writing down what each child would do for their part in the show. One by one the other children proudly reported what song they would sing or what Bible verse they would recite for everyone. I was shaking with shame—I knew no appropriate song except Jesus Loves Me, but when I told the teacher that would be my song, she shook her head. No Honey. We’ll all sing Jesus Loves Me together as a group

Having no fallback plan I blurted out in desperation, But I can sing it in Chinese!

I’m sure that little lady’s eyebrows went up in disbelief, but there was no one handy for her to check with, and time was getting short, so that became my part of the program.

I am not sure exactly where I got the Chinese idea, but I do know that this was during World War II, and we were urged each mealtime to eat everything on our plates or else we would somehow be hurting all the little hungry children in China.

I was so happy to be part of something that sounded important! I could hardly wait for evening to come so the show could begin. I kept my song a secret from everyone at home. They were going to be so surprised when I got up and sang a song all by myself! O yeah!!

Evening arrived and Mom dressed us in our Sunday best. Dad, the church-loving parent, walked proudly with us down to his Cousin Slater’s new little church for its first ever Vacation Bible School program.

Things went pretty smoothly for a non-rehearsed children’s event until it was my turn. By then I was pretty sure I had made a dumb decision about my choice of what to do, but it was too late to turn back. The teacher announced that I would be singing Jesus Loves Me in Chinese. As I stepped forward, I saw Mom’s eyes pop wide open, but the piano lady had started so I started too—in my version of Chinese.

It has been many years since that evening, but I seem to remember it went a little like this: WING WONG DING DONG LOO LOO LAH. CHING CHING CHONG CHONG WAH WAH WAH. And on like that until the piano lady mercifully stopped playing.

I don’t remember much about the rest of the show, but I do remember we didn’t stay for the punch and cookies. And I do recall how on the way home Mom kept muttering that phrase we were to hear so many other times through the years: I’ve never been so humiliated in my life!

DANCING WITH MY STAR

Dave and I are not very good dancers, but please don’t tell us that. We just enjoy ourselves too much to want to hear any criticism about our dancing style. We love to sway together in our own smooth style across the dance floor, or the kitchen floor, or anywhere we might happen to be when the music strikes up our kind of song.

It wasn’t always like this, however. On our first dancing date all those years ago I was totally bumfuzzled by whatever